Sarmatian Betrayal
by Tri Lorian
Summary: After a battle with Woad rebels, Dagonet discovers a sword of non-Woad origin. What tie does Lancelot have with this sword? {Complete}
1. Part One

The Woad before Lancelot took a wild swing at him, aiming at the knight's throat.

Lancelot stepped back to avoid the sword, turning sideways slightly. With fierce force the sword came down on his twin swords. He staggered backwards from the impact of the blow. The grass was slippery with blood under his feet and it took him a few seconds before he regained his footing.

Lancelot heard the sword come back up before he saw it. He swiftly twirled his right sword in his hand to push it down into the chest of the Woad attacking him. His arm was halfway down, when a flash of pain erupted at his right side, trailing up across his abdomen and then over his left arm. He screamed out in agony and dropped his left sword. The pain dulled him momentarily and he just stood there. Then he focused all of his energy in bringing down his right sword and finishing off the man in front of him.

With all his weight behind the assault, he was pulled down with the motion when the Woad went down with Lancelot's sword still embedded in his chest. He tried to compensate, but his body seemed to freeze up as the pain spread through his veins. He felt his legs buckle underneath him. Another wave of pain seared through him when he landed on his knees with a thud.

–– 8 ––

With a powerful strike of his arm, Arthur beheaded the man in front of him. Stepping back he looked around and saw that the battle was all but over. A quick survey told him that the remaining Woad rebels had opted to flee. Slowly he sheathed Excalibur.

He saw how Galahad offered a hand to Gawain, and pulled him to his feet. Bors was already making his way towards his commander. Dagonet was walking towards where the horses had gathered. He caught Tristan's eye who was not far from him, who raised his long sword and pointed towards the west behind him. Following Tristan's directions, Arthur suddenly came aware of whom Tristan had been pointing at. Lancelot!

Lancelot was on his knees, leaning on his right sword for support. His left sword abandoned in the grass before him. He pressed his left arm tight against his body.

Setting off in a run towards the curly haired knight, Arthur yelled out. "Lancelot!"

All of the other knights except Tristan looked up upon hearing the scream rolling across the field. Tracing where to Arthur was running as fast as he could, they all saw how Lancelot was on his knees, his head bowed like he was praying.

Arthur reached Lancelot first, and knelt down next to the Sarmatian before he had even come to a complete halt. He saw how blood was trailing down the arm that his knight held close to his body. His face was ashen white under the speckles of blood that coated his skin and hair. Arthur became even more alarmed when Lancelot didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Lancelot?" Arthur cautiously placed his hand on the other man's shoulder.

Lancelot could feel the blood crawling over his abdomen, down his side, down his arm. He felt lightheaded. He hadn't heard how Arthur had ran up to him. He had only felt the hand on his shoulder. Slowly he looked up. He tried to focus his gaze on Arthur but it was like some kind of fog had suddenly descended on the field. He blinked but it didn't clear the fog. Suddenly he could hold him self up on his knees no more. He sat down heavily. The impact with the ground sent up intense pain through his body. He closed his eyes not to scream out. He didn't fight when darkness engulfed him.

Arthur realized Lancelot had passed out before his body had completely gone limp. He caught Lancelot in his arms before he collapsed. Carefully, he lowered his body to the ground.

The other knights had hurried towards their brother-in-arms also, and Gawain quickly assisted Arthur in unbuckling Lancelot chest armour. The full damage became visible then. Blood was flowing freely from a slash across Lancelot's abdomen. An even deeper cut in his right side where the sword had gone straight through the armour seemed to have slowed down bleeding already. The gash on his left upper arm seemed minor compared with the other wounds, but was losing blood copiously.

"Dagonet, get bandages. Galahad, water!" Arthur commanded. "We need to stop the bleeding!"

Dagonet handed the bandages to Tristan who had knelt down on the other side of Lancelot. Arthur took part of them from the scout. While Arthur tended to the wound on Lancelot's arm, Tristan pressed bandages to Lancelot's abdomen and side.

With a startled gasp Lancelot came awake again, his back arching against the intolerable pain. His eyes widened in fear and agony.

Gawain and Galahad quickly moved to kneel next to the dark knight also, and hold him down before he could injure himself any further.

"Lancelot! Don't move!" Arthur tried to get through to the Sarmatian and placed his hand on Lancelot's face.

Slowly, Lancelot moved his head and looked into Arthur's face, his eyes brilliant with pain but lucid. A curse escaped his lips when Tristan changed the blood soaked bandages and pressed down once again.

"I know it hurts like hell, but you have to stay still," Arthur said urgently. "You're bleeding badly and we have to stop it."

Arthur exchanged concerned glances with Tristan, as he began to dress the wound on Lancelot's arm. It was the one on his abdomen that was worrying both of them. It looked like it needed extensive stitching, and it was at least a two hour ride back to the wall.

Arthur stayed with Lancelot while Tristan tried his best to stop the bleeding. The Roman knew that Lancelot was still conscious but was staring at the sky blankly to try not to scream out with every change in pressure that the scout applied. "Dagonet, Bors, check whether there are any living amongst the dead. Galahad, we're going to need more bandages."

Quickly his knights spread out to follow their commander's orders.

"I don't think I can do much more than this," Tristan spoke up. "If we bandage it with wads of bandages underneath, it should keep some pressure on the wounds. We need to get him back to the fort as soon as possible. The wounds aren't life threatening, at least if we can get them closed before he bleeds out."

Arthur nodded. "Gawain, if you help him sit up on his right side, I'll take this side." Gawain nodded in compliance.

"Lancelot? Can you hear me?" Arthur turned to his fallen knight. He was relieved to see that Lancelot was still responding to him. If he were to lose consciousness, he would have to ride with one of the others, which would slow them down considerably. Although Arthur felt doubtful whether Lancelot would be able to ride by himself even if he were conscious when he saw the paleness of the Sarmatian's face. "We are going to sit you up now, so Tristan can bandage your wounds. Don't do anything, don't try to help, let us do all the work, okay?"

Lancelot nodded slowly.

Carefully Arthur and Gawain placed their hands on Lancelot's shoulders and pulled him up. Lancelot couldn't suppress a load pained groan when his abdomen suddenly seemed to be on fire.

Tristan swiftly bandaged Lancelot's abdomen and side, noticing worriedly how blood was already seeping through the bandages before he was finished. He could hear how Lancelot was panting, and he could feel how his body had started shivering in response to the pain. He quickly signaled to Arthur and Gawain to lay Lancelot back down.

Arthur watched with great concern how Lancelot closed his eyes. He too had felt it when the Sarmatian's body had started trembling minutely. Once more he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Rest now. We will soon ride back to the wall, where you can get all the rest that you need…"

Lancelot didn't respond as Arthur straightened up. The Roman looked around and saw Dagonet walking towards him. With one last glance at Lancelot, he walked to meet him halfway.

"They're all dead," Dagonet confirmed. He raised his arm and showed Arthur the sword he was holding in it. "I found this close to one of the bodies. It's not from Woad origin. It's much smaller and longer." Turning it over, he added, "And it has markings like nothing that the Woads have."

Arthur took the sword out of Dagonet's hands, and inspected it closely. It felt surprisingly light in his hands. Dagonet was right, this was not a Woad sword. "We'll take it with us. We're going to have to leave soon if we want to return before it gets dark. I just hope Lancelot is able to make the ride…"

–– 8 ––

Arthur had never before been so glad to see the wall doom up in front of them. They had been riding for three hours already, and sunset was near.

Arthur and Galahad were both riding very closely next to Lancelot's black stallion, each on a different side. During the first hour of their ride back, the curly haired knight had been able to endure the pain and they had been able to move at a reasonable speed. Lancelot had held his left arm against his body, while holding the reins in his right. But not long after, Arthur had suddenly noticed how he was hanging his head further and further, and he had been just in time to grab him by a shoulder before he would have tumbled off of his horse. Barely conscious, he had helped Lancelot dismount and they had taken half an hour rest to allow Lancelot some respite from the pain and recover some strength. But after they had mounted again, it had become clear fast that the hurt knight was not going to make it if they were going to continue in a slow gallop. Arthur had slowed everyone down to step. Lancelot had managed to stay conscious since then but was swaying dangerously in the saddle, which was why Arthur and Galahad were now riding close to him, to keep him in the saddle.

Finally they rode through the gates of the fort. Arthur answered Jols' questioning look with a nod towards the stables. The doors to the stable where the knights' horses were stalled was just broad enough to allow the three horses to pass through while still riding alongside each other.

Arthur grabbed the reins of Lancelot's horse out of his limp hand, and pulled the black stallion to a halt in the middle of the large stable. He waited until Galahad had put a hand on Lancelot's arm before dismounting himself, not trusting Lancelot to keep himself upright for much longer. Quickly rounding his own horse, the Roman came up next to the nearly unconscious knight. Dagonet was already there. The large knight gently lifted Lancelot of his horse. When Lancelot's feet touched the floor, Arthur was ready to hold him up. Lancelot sagged against the taller man, but didn't completely collapse. Arthur draped his arm over his shoulder, and Gawain did the same on the other side.

"Can you walk?" Arthur asked tentatively.

In answer, Lancelot nodded. He tried to take a first step, but his vision darkened when pain shot through him. Arthur scooped him up in his arms before he could hit the floor, and ran more than walked to the healer's ward.

Arthur watched in concern when Lancelot never woke up during the healer's examination and also not when the healer cleaned the wounds with alcohol and stitched all three of them up.

"It was to be expected, Arthur," the healer told the Roman commander in a fatherly tone of voice. "The wounds are grave, but mostly painful. The blood loss is extensive, but not fatal. The ride back will have drained him of his energy. And I like to think it's more merciful from our God to let him sleep through such sewing work," the tiny man smiled. "Let him sleep through the night and he should be feeling a whole lot better already." The medicus draped a blanket over Lancelot's naked upper torso. "And having dealt with his stubbornness many times before, too many times even, I suggest you take him to his own room!" he added, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "If he needs me, tonight or tomorrow morning, then you know where to find me." With that said the healer left Arthur alone in the room with Lancelot.

Arthur stood there a few minutes considering the healer's words and then went outside where his other knights were waiting for news about their brother-in-arms.

–– 8 ––

A knock on the door to his room the next morning awoke Lancelot from a deep sleep. Groggily he watched as Gawain entered his room.

"If you are up to it, Arthur has called a meeting in the main hall," Gawain said, studying Lancelot carefully. The dark haired man looked a bit on the pale side, maybe slightly flushed, but no worse for wear otherwise.

Lancelot tried to remember why he would not be up to going to the main hall while he started to throw his blankets off of himself with his left arm. A loud scream ensued as he became aware of his injuries.

Gawain winced in sympathy as he witnessed how Lancelot went rigid, sucking in his breath, trying to get the upper hand over the pain.

Gawain moved forward with concern written all over his face. "Lancelot?"

Lancelot let out a long shaky breath before he forced himself to relax his taut muscles. He cursed profusely in his native tongue. When he heard Gawain chuckling, he cast him an evil glare. "I'll be there," he said tersely.

"Take your time." Gawain hurriedly left the room, knowing full well the temper that was sometimes unleashed in the knight he now left behind.

–– 8 ––

Lancelot slowly walked towards the main hall of the fortress. It had taken him at least half an hour to dress and he still hadn't found a movement he could make without having bolts of pain shooting through his entire frame. He was in a foul mood and he had no intention of hiding it from anyone who crossed his path today. One of Bors' bastards had taken notice of his pain-stricken face as he tried to descend a two steps stairs without hurting himself any further, and he had practically bitten off her head when she asked if she could help. He wasn't feeling too proud about that one, though.

When he neared the fortress' hall, he could make out several voices of the knights that had already assembled there. Dagonet's deep sounding voice drifted farthest. Arthur's voice he could distinguish easily also.

He was glad the doors to the hall were open and he could just walk in. He hadn't looked forward to the prospect of having to push open the heavy doors.

When he walked in he noticed Arthur sitting in his chair with Dagonet and Gawain standing at either side bent over a map that was obviously the topic of their conversation. Galahad stood in the back of the room holding a goblet of wine while talking to Tristan and Bors. None of them seemed to have noticed his entry.

Eager to sit down, he continued on to his usual chair passing behind Arthur's. As he walked past, his eyes were drawn to the sword that was lying on the round table to Arthur's left. Suddenly he felt like the air had been knocked out of him. "Vepkhia," he whispered as he gasped for air. His legs were going weak as spots appeared in his vision, and he reached out his right arm to find support which was not there.

Arthur turned around when he heard Lancelot's voice. "Lancelot, how…" He shot out of his chair when he saw Lancelot looking white as a sheet, with one hand outstretched, and ready to collapse. "Lancelot!"

Careful of Lancelot's wounds and bandages, Arthur grabbed his friend by his shoulders. Immediately he felt how Lancelot's weight was resting on his arms. Swiftly the Roman positioned himself on Lancelot's right side and threw his arm over his shoulders, while sliding his own left arm around Lancelot's back. He more or less carried Lancelot to the nearest chair, and gently sat him down.

No sound had left Lancelot's lips. Arthur was not quite certain whether the Sarmatian was even conscious. His eyes were open but he wasn't showing any signs of awareness of the other's presence.

"Lancelot?" he asked urgently.

The other knights had gathered around their commander and his second in command, and were watching with growing concern.

Arthur heard how rapidly the other man was drawing in breaths, near the point of wheezing. "Lancelot?" he tried again.

When he didn't get any response, he cupped Lancelot's chin and forced him to look up into his face. Lancelot's eyes were dull, non-seeing and piercing through his commander at the same time. Fear was building in Arthur. He waved his hand in front of the knight's eyes, but they didn't even blink.

"Galahad?" Arthur didn't turn around to address his youngest knight.

Already sensing what his commander wanted, Galahad turned towards the open door of the hall, and started running. "I'll get the healer!" he shouted back.

Arthur gathered Lancelot up in his arms gently, watchful of his injuries, even though Lancelot didn't even seem to register that he was being carried. "Let Galahad know that I've taken him to my quarters." He could feel the body against his trembling and Lancelot's heart was racing under his hands. As fast as he dared he carried Lancelot to his own rooms.

The healer arrived only moments after Arthur had deposited Lancelot on his bed. Galahad had already informed him of the occurrence in the main hall, and the elderly man moved to examine the knight immediately without stopping for questions. He shook his head several times, uttering phrases in Latin, with concern etched on his face. The stubborn Sarmatian knight had long ago found a precious place in his heart.

The healer pulled up the blanket to cover Lancelot's trembling body, and stood back. He shook his head. "I'm just as baffled as all of you are. I have no idea what might have caused this… this… dreamlike state. I think it's best if we let him sleep. I'll give him something that will allow him to sleep. And then we wait until he wakes up again."

Only minutes after the healer had administered a brown liquid to Lancelot, his eyes slipped close. Arthur and his other knights watched in uncertainty.


	2. Part Two

Arthur had left Lancelot sleeping in his quarters. He had tried to spend most of his day going over papers while keeping watch over the younger knight, but he had duties to fulfill. Lancelot had slept quietly throughout the night and into the day. Arthur was pleased that at least he had stopped shivering and his heart wasn't pounding in his chest anymore. Around middag Arthur had checked on him to find him still sleeping as before. He knew his other knights had stopped by occasionally also.

Only a few hours before sunset were left when Arthur made his way to his quarters once again. Silently Arthur opened the doors and slid inside. He made his way over to his bed. To find it empty. Arthur felt relieved that Lancelot had finally woken up. "Lancelot?" Turning around he searched the room with his eyes, but the Sarmatian was nowhere to be seen. Arthur quickly went out the door again, realizing that Lancelot's clothes were gone too.

As Arthur hurried through the narrow streets, he went over the places where Lancelot might have gone. He wasn't in the tavern with the other knights, because then one of them would have alerted him. Arthur decided that the stables would be the most logical place to look first, before he went searching for him on the battlements or even on the hill.

The Roman knew the moment he went into the stables that he had been right in going there first. He could hear Lancelot's voice while he was talking softly. Arthur couldn't understand the words though as his knight was talking in Sarmatian.

Arthur wasn't surprised that Lancelot was alone in the stall with his horse. After battles, especially the ones in which they lost long time friends, Lancelot often disappeared and usually Arthur would find him in the stables grooming his horse until it shined like a mirror, talking to it in his native language.

Arthur knew that Lancelot had heard him enter, when he stopped talking to his horse. Arthur proceeded towards the stall where Lancelot's black stallion was munching his food slowly. Lancelot was sitting in the hay with his back against the wall. He lifted his head when Arthur came into the stall.

Arthur took in Lancelot's appearance. His face was pale, but otherwise he seemed fine. Arthur knew better than that. He sat down next to his friend, without breaking eye contact. "How are you feeling?" he asked, not sure of what else to say.

"I'm fine, Arthur," Lancelot's softly spoken words did nothing to appease Arthur. He didn't sound anything like the usual Lancelot. "You don't need to worry about me." He turned away from Arthur to study his boots intently.

Arthur took a deep breath before answering. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere with Lancelot if he became angry. He certainly felt like yelling at the man right now. "What's going on, Lancelot?" Very softly he added, "You scared us."

Lancelot slumped as in defeat. "I didn't mean to." He spoke so quietly that Arthur hardly heard him.

"Then tell us what is going on with you. Let us help, Lancelot. Let **me** help."

Lancelot didn't respond at first. He just sat there. Arthur saw he was fiddling with something in his hand. He didn't have to see it to know it was the pendant Lancelot's sister had given to him the day he had been forced to leave his family.

Suddenly Lancelot seemed to have come to a decision, and he looked at Arthur once more. Raw pain was visible in his eyes. "I need to tell you something. The others also." His voice sounded determined and full of doubt at the same time.

Arthur wasn't sure what to make of Lancelot's behaviour. Mystified he answered, "They are all in the tavern. Do you want to go there?"

Lancelot nodded. He released a shuddering breath before he stood. Pain stabbed through his side but he didn't mind. It was nothing compared with the ache in his heart.

Together they walked to the tavern. Neither spoke a word. Lancelot because he seemed deep in thought. Arthur because he was afraid to say anything that would make Lancelot come back on his decision to talk with them. Lancelot hesitated briefly before he followed Arthur inside.

Gawain was the first to notice that Arthur had just entered with Lancelot close behind. "Arthur. Lancelot! It's good to see you! Sit down!"

Both Bors and Gawain moved a bit to the side to allow first Lancelot and then Arthur to take place at the table.

"Vanora!" Bors yelled. "More drinks!"

Only when Galahad had taken the drinks from Vanora and had deposited them in front of the two men that had just arrived, did the other knights start to notice the lack of speech from both the Roman and the Sarmatian.

First expectantly, then worriedly they looked from Lancelot to Arthur and back. Arthur shook his head curtly to communicate to his knights to remain silent.

"The sword…" Lancelot swallowed heavily to control the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm him. The others could see clearly that the dark haired man was reeling with emotion. Whereas the knight was known for his temper, the vulnerability he now displayed was a rare sight.

"The sword," he started anew. "The one that Dagonet found yesterday…" He looked up from his hands that were lying in front of him on the table, his fingers nervously playing with his pendant. When he saw all the encouraging nods around the table, he drew in another shuddering breath as to gather all his courage. "It belongs to my tribe."

Gasps of surprise were heard from all. "Bloody hell…" Bors added, breaking the silence.

"How do you know?" Arthur asked, the voice of reason. "Could you be mistaken?"

Lancelot shook his head, his gaze returning to his hands. "The markings."

Arthur waited for Lancelot to continue. He sensed that there was more to come, that Lancelot was still holding something back.

"It symbolizes Agni, god of fire and god of war. The supreme goddess Tabiti's counterpart. The markings on the sword represent the three spheres of the Universe – sky, water and the people on earth. Agni supposedly lives in all three spheres of the Universe, all knowing, present everywhere. He's always depicted with two horses and a sword, a strong warrior." Lancelot paused briefly.

Arthur listened intently. It was not often that Lancelot opened up about his homeland.

"This symbol for Agni has been inscribed for centuries in the weapons that were carried by one of the most important families in my tribe, the family of Vepkhia. A family of warriors. He fought for the Romans and returned." Lancelot's voice broke.

Arthur could see how Lancelot's hands were trembling.

"Lancelot? How can you be so certain that this sword is from your tribe?" Arthur tried to phrase his words carefully, not wanting to hurt the man he loved like a brother any further. "Wouldn't markings for this god of war be present on lots of weapons?"

Lancelot nodded slowly. "Yes." He lifted his head and looked around the circle of Sarmatian knights, and then turned to Arthur. "Did anyone else recognize the markings?" he returned Arthur's question with another question.

"No…" Arthur confirmed.

"All tribes use different symbols to represent our gods. Sometimes the differences are small, sometimes there's hardly any similarity. Tribes that were in contact with each other usually shared some symbols, but they were never identical. The symbols used within a tribe often change also, although subtly, with the blacksmith responsible for forging the weaponry. Sometimes you can identify the forger of a sword simply by the markings it bears."

Arthur was about to say something when he saw an emotion flickering in Lancelot's eyes that he nearly didn't recognize. Longing. Longing for home. The pain of being robbed of his home long ago.

Lancelot quickly diverted his eyes, focusing on his hands once more. "I used to witness often how the swords were forged and then carefully inscribed with this symbol of Agni." A shudder went through his spine. "My father made this sword."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lancelot remained still except for his hands that were trembling violently now. He felt Artur's hand clasping his shoulder, rubbing up and down soothingly, without speaking.

Gawain was the first to break the silence. "How did the sword get to Britain then, and in Woad hands especially?"

Everyone waited for Lancelot to answer but when the curly haired man remained silent, Arthur spook up. "Lancelot? You said that someone of this family served for Rome. Was it in Britain? Is that how this sword ended up here?"

Lancelot shook his head. "My father wasn't the tribe's main blacksmith back then."

"It must have been forged more recently? Is that what you are saying?" Arthur tried to prod gently, afraid Lancelot might fall silent completely again like the day before.

Lancelot nodded quietly. "Vepkhia had two sons. His eldest son, who was also named Vepkhia, was also forced to serve Rome. Not long before I… before our village was raided by the Romans, a caravan passed through with news of the boy's death." Lancelot's voice hitched and it took him a moment before he could continue. "He had a younger son also. I can't remember his name... I think he was about six or seven years younger than I. He should be Galahad's age now or about. He was filled with rage when he heard of his brother's death. He swore he would kill the Romans that were responsible for taking his brother. He wanted to come with us when we were taken from our homes to find the murderers of his brother. But the Romans didn't allow him to come. They probably figured he would be too much trouble."

Arthur considered Lancelot's words. "And you think that this boy has come to Britain?"

"It would fit, wouldn't it? The sword, but also that he's fighting on the side of the Woads, against the Romans…"

Arthur nodded. "If it's true than he must have joined the Woad rebels that we fought." He carefully watched Lancelot before he continued. "Several of them got away yesterday. I want to capture them before they flee north of the wall again. I was planning on going after them tomorrow."

The knights at the table welcomed that plan with grunts and cheers. Arthur watched concerned how Lancelot's frame went completely tense. He once more placed a hand on the dark knight's shoulder, not certain of what to say or do to help Lancelot deal with the turmoil coursing through him.

"You don't have to come. You're injured and we can handle it without you," Arthur offered.

Lancelot shook his head. "I want to come. I can fight." After a brief pause, he added softly. "He might know about my family, if they are even still alive. Even if he left Sarmatia years ago, he'll know more than I do…" He couldn't conceal the pain in his words.

–– 8 ––

Arthur had sent Tristan to ride ahead as not to alert the rebels of their presence. Only an hour later, the scout rejoined the others.

"There are eightteen of them. They are in the open field, so I couldn't get too close to them. It looks like they are moving towards the wall to the east of here. We can cut them off if we go around these hills," Tristan pointed.

Arthur turned around in his saddle. "Knights. We have found them. We will wait for them in an ambush. Remember we want as many of them as possible alive for questioning." He cast a quick glance to Lancelot, who was sitting stiffly on top of his black horse, looking pale and grim. Arthur didn't need to say what all of them knew, that there was one particular rebel that they wanted alive.

With a light kick in his horse's flanks, Arthur galloped off swiftly in the direction that Tristan had indicated, his knights following closely.

–– 8 ––

Their initial attack had taken the Woad rebels completely by surprise, but they had recovered fast giving Arthur and his knights tough opposition.

Lancelot had taken down two of the rebels before he had come up against a Woad who was showing some great skills with his sword. The curly haired knight was slightly favoring his right sword welding arm as the stitches on his left arm and abdomen pulled, but the pain was not restricting his agility or his effectiveness. With an unexpected move, Lancelot sliced his left sword through the Woad's upper leg, sending him to the ground with a hellish scream. Moving to his left, Lancelot raised his right sword and knocked the blue painted warrior out with the flat side of the blade.

Galahad had come face to face with one of the rebels only seconds after killing off another Woad. With a loud groan he shoved the man away from him while he recovered his bearings. The rebel responded by pointing his long spear at Galahad's heart, which Galahad ward off with his sword. Readying himself for his next attack, Galahad took in his opponent. The man had blue paint and war marks on his face, but his clothes were nothing like the usual Woad dress. Realization hit Galahad that this man must be the Sarmatian from Lancelot's tribe. The man immediately drew Galahad's attention back to their fight as he once more attacked with his long spear. He was handling the spear masterly. The great distance between Galahad and the Sarmatian rebel was posing problems for the young knight as he could not reach him with his sword, only parry blows. Galahad considered pulling out his throwing knife, but he realized he felt reluctant to kill his opponent. The next moment it was too late to go for his knife as a forceful attack from the spear caused him to stumble backwards.

Lancelot looked around and determined that the fight would soon be over. He took in how Arthur was forcing his opponent to the ground. When he looked to his other side, he became aware of the fight going on some thirty feet away between Galahad and one of the rebels. Lancelot immediately realized that the Woad rebel had the upper hand as he saw Galahad scrambling to keep his footing. Galahad's opponent lifted his arm, keeping a fierce grip on the long spear in his hand, ready to finish off the youngest of Arthur's knights. Lancelot could see the blue painted face of the rebel as he straightened, ready to release the spear. The moment he saw the face he recognized it, triggering his memory.

"LUKHUM!"

The scream echoed over the field. Lancelot's blood boiled, anger consuming him, as he witnessed a Sarmatian about to kill another Sarmatian. He pulled back his right sword and threw it with all his might to safe Galahad from certain death.

Completely surprised upon hearing his name, the Sarmatian rebel looked up at the same time as Lancelot's sword flew through the air. It hit him right on target above his body armour in his throat, almost decapitating him, blood spurting everywhere as he fell back.

Arthur turned around to see Lancelot on his knees once again. He ran to him after disposing of his own opponent, uncertain whether Lancelot was injured.

Arthur crossed the distance to Lancelot in no time. A slow trickle of blood was flowing down his left arm, but no other wounds were visible. The Roman was terrified by the way Lancelot was staring ahead, wide eyed. Following the direction in which Lancelot was staring, Arthur saw how Galahad was standing up, one of the rebels dead at his feet. With one of Lancelot's swords embedded in his throat. Understanding dawned on Arthur immediately.

Arthur dropped down on his knees in front of Lancelot. Green eyes met brown eyes.

His experiences in life had shaped Lancelot into the man he was now. After having killed so many men, so many sons, Lancelot had resolved to using his wits, his charm and his sarcasm to keep people out of his inner life. It had also made him one of the most feared knights and Arthur's second in command.

But now, the horror of having killed a fellow Sarmatian, a fellow tribesman no less, had swung open the gates to his soul with force, allowing his commander full access.

Arthur saw the pain, the fear, the loneliness, the regret of the young man who had never imagined that he would be living this life of violence and death and war.

Knowing that no words were ever going to set this right again, Arthur grabbed Lancelot and pulled him into a warm embrace.

Almost immediately, the body against Arthur's became racked by sobs. Arthur just held him close. He felt how Lancelot's hand held the cloak on his back in a dead grip. They stayed like that for quite awhile before slowly the knight in his arm calmed down. When he felt Lancelot releasing his tight grip on his cloak, Arthur sat back on his heels, never losing contact with his tear stricken and tormented friend.

Both of them became aware of the other knights that were standing around them in a circle, wordlessly.

Brown eyes met blue-grey ones as Lancelot's eyes found Galahad who opened his mouth to say something, to say thank you, to say sorry, but before he could find the words, Lancelot stood up and took him in another embrace, mouthing in his ear. "I'm glad you're alright… my brother."

**A/N: **

**(1)** The symbol I describe is indeed the sign for the fire god Agni, and it was indeed discovered inscribed on the golden tip of the hilt of a Sarmatian sword found in the _Roshava Dragana_ barrow of Bulgaria. Mail me if you want to see a picture of it - ff . net is making a mess of URL links at the moment...

It was dated 1st – 2nd century A.D., so a couple of centuries before the movie. Which would make Lancelot statement about the inscription being on Sarmatian swords from his tribe for centuries quite accurate LOL Of course, I made up that part, as well as the part of the different tribes using different symbols, as well as the Vepkhia family :)

**(2)** I've used in this story a concept that I've always found fascinating from the Elfquest series. I'm not sure how many of you will be familiar with Elfquest, but it's basically a story about a tribe of Elves (the Wolflings) that are searching for other Elf tribes to ensure their future. At least in the beginning that was the basic story. By now there are so many different storylines going about all the different tribes that I've lost track :) Anyway, in one of the first series – which I absolutely adore – one of the Elves called Strongbow is forced to kill an Elf of another tribe to save his son. It's the very first time that an Elf has killed another Elf, and the world changes forever. Strongbow is tormented by his act for a long, long time – during which his arrows do not fly true anymore – until he finds peace in the Palace. I hope I've managed to portrait some of that horror, torment in this story about Lancelot also.


End file.
